Kings of Allaura
by XiancisMind
Summary: Captain Arthur Kirkland has devoted his life to searching for the mysterious island Allaura. During his voyage, his ship is ravaged by one Alfred F. Jones, a long time enemy of Arthur's. However, Alfred ends up stealing much more than Arthur's crew.
1. Prologue

**AN: Hello everyone uwu Thank you for clicking!~ I hope you'll enjoy reading. I apologize how short this prologue is; I'll try to make other chapters longer. Thank you!**

Prologue

Legend tells of a mysterious island, shrouded in fog and hazardous jungle. The island had been dubbed Allaura. Never has a single sailor succeeded in sailing there, nor had anyone ever seen it for that matter-or at least, seen it and lived to tell the tale. It was said that as of current, the island was uninhabited, but if a ship ever found itself upon the sandy shores, its captain would be blessed with international fame, and fortune of immeasurable amounts. A certain captain had devoted his entire life to finding this island. He was determined to find it ever since he was a small boy and his father told him the legends of the arcane Allaura. He knew that one day, the fame and fortune would be his.

A grand ship, dark and sleek, not very large but certainly much faster than many others, rested in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Its name was the Moonflower Lorelei. The frigid waves slapped the sides of the ship, making it slowly rock back and forth. It would have been relaxing, the slow, calming rock of the ocean, had the situation not been so blasted infuriating.

The captain of the ship stood on the bow, sneering over the water. He crossed his arms behind his back, obviously displeased with their current location. The cold wind came in short bursts, causing the man's feathered hat to become slightly askew atop his head. He slowly set it back in its proper place with a single black gloved finger. His expression did not change as he looked upon the waves. His dark crimson coat ruffled softly in the wind as another burst came and went. The white shirt he wore was unbuttoned, with the exception of the very bottom button, so the wind caught and caused it to blow open, exposing his bare chest. His chest was smooth and tan, caused of course by his being in the sunlight every day for hours on end. His trousers matched his coat, an unmistakable crimson that caught the light and made it shine in a way that always brought a sly smirk to the man's lips.

The captain sighed to himself and continued to gaze out across the endless blue. His glance slowly rose to the cyan skies. Cloudless. He blinked slowly, bored, and began meandering around the bow. He paced back and forth leisurely, his green eyes hazily observing his surroundings. Once again came a particularly strong gust of wind, making him shiver; his blonde hair blowing wildly. The man turned so his back faced the broad ocean as a cunning smile crept onto his face. The man was sailing to Allaura. This man is captain Arthur Kirkland.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Captain Kirkland lazily reclined in his favorite, though quite worm chair in his cabin under the port of his ship, the Moonflower Lorelei, and closed his eyes. Lately they had been making so little progress; he was so incredibly weary. It seemed like there was nothing but simply endless blue, that possibly they would never find what they were searching for. But never would he give up! Never would he lose his determination, never would he stop searching. Since he was small, he dreamt of the moment when he would gloriously sail up to the bright, warm shores of Allaura. The fame. The fortune. The kingdom. The rule. It would all one day be his.

Arthur could hear the sounds of worried footsteps, running back and forth atop the ship. Additionally he would head an occasional shout, but he just dismissed it as his crew acting idiotically as they usually did. Never would he say it, as he tried to be humble among his crew (though it was difficult- they were the most boorish of men) as they were helping him to accomplish his life's dream, but his crew were certainly not the sharpest tools in the shed. They got excited every single time they saw a whale breach, for God sake. They were some of the nicest lads he'd ever known- but smart, definitely not.

Hurriedly, a chipper young chap exploded into the room, nearly falling down the stairs on his way in.

"Come in," Arthur mused sarcastically. The boy quickly apologized. Everyone knew that the captain didn't enjoy interruptions- especially during his alone time in his cabin. Arthur waved his hand in a forget-it-please-continue manner. The boy panted; he had obviously been one of the ones Arthur had previously heard running on the deck.

"There's-" the teen stopped to catch a breath. "There's someone here. He's demanding to talk to you and he won't leave until he sees you." Arthur reclined once more.

"And?" He crossed his legs up on the scuffed oak table that sat before him. The boy looked down, as if withholding information. Arthur was no fool, he could tell when someone was hiding something.

"Peter," he said, addressing the child. "What exactly is going on?" His voice had become menacingly calm, a voice he only used in the direst of situations. The lad was clearly conflicted, obviously trying hard not to upset the captain. The information that he held was powerful, Arthur already knew, and it only continued to pique his interest in the subject.

"I really hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's him." Peter said, averting his gaze. He stared at the floor, the wall, the ceiling, anything to avoid making eye contact with Arthur. "He's here. He's back."

Arthur's eyes widened. He knew exactly to whom the boy was referring. Only he knew. It was him, Alfred F. Jones, a prime competitor for the kingdom and Arthur's top archrival. Alfred's ship, the Amber Waves, always seemed to find its way back to Arthur's, even when they were oceans away. It was as if they were drawn together like the strongest of magnets, fueled by their pure spirit of competition. And hatred. Most of it was hatred.

Before Arthur knew it, he was standing and glaring. Not necessarily at Peter, but at the situation in general.

"Blast…" he quietly swore under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair. "What are his demands this time? Besides speaking with me, that is." He inquired with a drawn out sigh. Peter quickly shook his head.

"He wouldn't tell us anything. He's demanding to see you. He looks really serious this time." Arthur raised an eyebrow. Usually Alfred just floated by to torment Arthur. Peter looked up at Arthur sheepishly and drew in a quick breath. "His crew is boarding." Arthur flew up the stairs and out of his cabin, leaving Peter standing in the dust. Quite literally. They hadn't a maid in forever. Arthur threw the door open with a vengeance and saw him. His enemy. His competitor. The only man that stood in the way of him and Allaura. He stepped forward, his countenance dark and angry, showing that he most certainly did not want to be fooled with this time.

"Alfred." Arthur said. Not a question. Not an exclamation. Just a statement, said as flatly and calmly as possible. Alfred suddenly burst into an ear-to-ear grin, holding his arms open widely.

"Arthur! It's been far too long, has it not?" he asked with an overly showy and unnecessary bow. "I've missed you, you know. Why must you keep competing with me? Why can you not accept your imminent defeat? I will win, you must know this already." Arthur sneered at the other man's words.

"Slag off, Jones. It's mine." He put a foot forward and leaned, glaring. The wind caught his coat and made it ruffle, the crimson catching the light oh so perfectly, "You know it's mine."

Wordlessly, Alfred began walking forward, a straight path to Arthur, who stepped back, and watched. Alfred reached the other man and looked down at him. He was a good bit taller than him, which made him smirk cockily. Without changing his expression, without saying anything, without even breathing, Alfred extended his hand and gave Arthur a good, hard slap in the face.

Surprised, Arthur toppled backwards, falling to the floor and landing in his backside. Alfred stood over him, glaring down.

"Just give up. Give up. You can't defeat me." He declared with a slight chuckle. He tapped a gloved finger to his chin. "Unless…" he said, purposely tauntingly, looking up to the sky innocently. It was meant to anger the other, and it worked. Arthur silently fumed from his place on the ground, his eyes burning holes through Alfred.

"Unless what." Arthur managed through clenched teeth. He dug his nails into his leg, trying to stop himself from snapping and killing Alfred where he stood. Alfred's crew stood behind him, creating a looming dark presence that he felt he couldn't escape. Arthur smiled sadistically.

"You could join me on my ship."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"_Unless what." Arthur managed through clenched teeth. He dug his nails into his leg, trying to stop himself from snapping and killing Alfred where he stood. Alfred's crew stood behind him, creating a looming dark presence that he felt he couldn't escape. Arthur smiled sadistically._

_ "You could join me on my ship."_

No one made a sound. The only audible thing was the waves gently sloshing against the wooden sides of the ship. Arthur paused. Alfred glared.

"What's it going to be?" the taller man asked with a sly smirk. "You can either die here or come join me. It's your choice." Alfred pondered for a moment. "Honestly, I think we could work excellently together. It would be quite….refreshing." he said, a malevolent grin dancing upon his countenance.

"Bloody bastard…" Arthur mumbled, using the back of his hand to wipe away a thin line of blood that dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His hand returned to the ground next to him. "I'd rather die than work with you." Arthur sneered, then spat at Alfred's feet, who just smiled calmly. Alfred slowly strode over to where Arthur sat, placing his heeled boot upon Arthur's chest, roughly pushing him to the ground. Arthur's head made contact with the wooden floor with a loud _crack_. He coughed violently, staring up at Alfred with hatred in his eyes. Alfred slowly crouched over Arthur's body.

"If you'd rather die, it will happen here and now." Alfred declared, drawing a knife from its small holster which was hooked on one of the belt loops on his trousers. He pressed the knife to Arthur's throat, not hard enough for it to actually cause blood to be drawn, but hard enough that it would cause him pain. "I could slit your throat right this second." Alfred remarked in a dreamy voice, as if he was enjoying himself. Hell, he probably was. He lazily traced the knife in patterns on Arthur's throat, much like one would trace letters or pictures on their lover's back. "Or I could give you an Italian necktie, if you'd rather. It'd be much more painful for you, but much more fun for me." Alfred chuckled to himself, the sick bastard. Arthur knew he got off to things like this, but he'd never experienced it firsthand before this moment.

"Sick pillock." Arthur muttered under his breath, so quietly he didn't even think Alfred heard him, though he did. Alfred grabbed a handful of Arthur's hair, forcing his head back against the floor and pressed his knife harshly onto Arthur's neck, right above his Adam's apple. Alfred now sat on Arthur's chest, knowing perfectly well that he was heavier than the other but not caring, so that he was unable to move. He delicately traced Arthur's jawline with his knife, wanting so badly to draw blood but knowing he couldn't just yet. All good things to those who wait.

"So, what's it going to be, Kirkland?" Alfred implored, leaning down so his face was just inches from Arthur's. "You either die at the hand of my blade, or submit to me, and you and your crew are mine." Arthur wriggled under Alfred's weight, trying to lessen the pressure of the sharp edge of the knife pressing into his neck, then stopped, finding it useless. His gaze went straight to Alfred's eyes, as if the two were having a silent battle with just their eyes. Finally, he spoke.

"You're fucked up, invading my ship out of the blue like this, Alfred. You and your damn crew. If I could personally send you to hell myself, I would." Arthur's sentence was forceful, but trailed off at the end. Alfred knew he had meant to say more.

"But?" Alfred inquired, raising an eyebrow slightly. He withdrew his blade from Arthur's neck, holding it so it hovered approximately an inch above its previous place, in case it needed to be re-placed.

Arthur let out a long, exasperated sigh. He closed his eyes, letting his head drop back and hit the floor, not even caring about the pain. "You fucking win." He was disgusted with himself, hearing those words leave his mouth, but he had no choice. At least with Jones, there was still a chance they'd make it to Allaura. Of course, were he dead, it was out of the question.

Arthur heard unanimous groans from his crew. They knew that now that their crew would be doubling in size, most of them would now be unneeded. After seeing how ruthless Alfred had been out of nowhere, they were sure he wouldn't hesitate to kill them, just for being extras. A smile spread itself across Alfred's face. "Delightful," he insinuated, returning his knife to its holster.

Slowly but carefully he returned to his feet, standing over Arthur, who was still on the ground. Alfred stared down at him, feeling cockier than he had in years. He knew Arthur Kirkland was a great pirate- who knew he'd give in so easily over a simple death threat? Alfred, of course, hadn't intended to kill the other man. He'd just needed leverage. But Arthur didn't know that. Had he been aware of Alfred's true intentions, Arthur probably would have jumped off the side of the ship and killed himself, Alfred figured. But what's done is done, it was all in the past now.

"Are you ready to join me? You know we'd be an excellent team." Alfred held out his hand, offering it to Arthur to help him stand up. The blonde simply swatted away the hand and stood up on his own. Brushing himself off, he glared at Alfred.

"I don't need your help. I don't need you." Arthur turned, his back facing Alfred, his coat tangling itself about his legs as he spun. Wordlessly, he returned to his cabin.

Alfred stood triumphantly on the deck, laughing to himself in victory. The joint crews regarded him with expressions of puzzlement. They'd known he was a strange, sadistic man. Now they were beginning to think that he was actually psychopathic.

Alone in his cabin, with the door locked and all the lights shut off, Arthur sat in his chair for what he thought could be the last time. He buried his face in his hands and let out a sigh, then ran a hand through his blonde hair and leaned back into the plush velvet of the recliner. Upon closing his eyes, he suddenly realized how tired this whole ordeal had made him. A gentle knock came at the door, but he ignored it as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The knock came again, harder. By this time it was nothing more than an incessant background noise in Arthur's dream. He stirred uncomfortably, squeezing his eyes shut tightly in the hopes that it would somehow make the noise go away.

Two faint, small taps came at the door, then a large thump. Arthur gritted his teeth, thoroughly annoyed. A superior thump came, followed by what sounded like an explosion. Arthur sat up hastily, alarmed, clenching the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles began becoming discolored and staring at the door, which he saw was now on the floor. In the doorway stood Alfred. Dust and splinters of wood settled contentedly on the floor as Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and smirked triumphantly.

"What the hell!" Arthur spat furiously. "I go to my cabin for ten seconds and you break down my damn door? What on earth is wrong with you!" Alfred's arms dropped awkwardly to his sides. He looked away.

"I waited five minutes. Anyway, you belong to me now, so come on!" he decreed, pouting like a child. Arthur sighed. Alfred had two wholly contrasting personalities- one was a sadistic, homicidal psychopath, and the other a whiny, impatient child. Arthur never knew which to expect during his encounters with Alfred. Usually it was both.

Arthur didn't say anything. He glared at Alfred, his gaze going leisurely from the stilted door that sat busted on the floor up to make eye contact with Alfred, staring fiercely into the other's blue eyes. He stood and strode over to Alfred with assurance, so close they just about touched.

"You listen to me, Jones. You can take away my ship and my crew, you can strip me of my titles and ranking, I don't care about any of that." He spoke with his hands, emphasizing his point. His eyes were the center of a burning hot fire. "But I will absolutely _never _belong to you."

Alfred's smirk turned to a scowl and his vivid blue eyes clouded to grey with anger as the other spoke. He snatched Arthur's wrist out of the air and held it with an iron grip, purposely grinding his bones together so that Arthur unintentionally let out a cry in pain. He tried to pull his arm away, but unfortunately, Captain Jones was stronger than him. Alfred held Arthur's hand above in the air above his head, watching it change from a pale peach to tinted red, then on to a grotesque almost purplish color.

"Let go of me!" Arthur assented, grinding his teeth. He struggled against Alfred to no avail. Least he could do was make things difficult, and this he would do. With his other hand he pushed against Alfred's chest, trying to make him release his grip. However Alfred's cheeky smirk returned.

"Not until you submit to me. It's not too late for me to get my knife back out." His smirk became a sadistic grin. He released Arthur's wrist and his hand returned to his side. Arthur rubbed his pained appendage, sneering up at Alfred. "It doesn't matter what you say. You can't even say anything."

"You're sick, you know." Arthur said with buoyancy, his gaze returning to his still slightly discolored wrist. Alfred roughly grabbed Arthur's face in his gloved hand.

"I should cut out your tongue. How dare you speak to your master so rudely, after I've been so kind to you? You've truly no shame." He let go of Arthur's face and lightly tapped his cheek with the tips of his fingers twice. His expression, so holier than thou, was what really was pissing Arthur off more than anything. "You've ten minutes. Gather your worthless possessions," Alfred stopped for a moment to kick a bit off wooden rubble out of his way- "and come up to the bow. We must prepare for your transfer, must we not?" Alfred looked at Arthur with the most smug expression the blonde had ever beheld in his 23 years. A brown eyebrow perked, challenging the Brit to answer.

"We must," Arthur growled through his still clenched teeth. Alfred smiled, apparently satisfied, and turned to leave. Arthur turned away, hearing only Alfred's boots clicking rhythmically against the wood of the stairs as he ascended to the bow.

Arthur sighed yet again. Why did the bloody American have to make things so stressful for him? Didn't he know how infuriating this voyage was on its own, without him messing everything up? Arthur would never know why Alfred loved to torment him like he did. Perhaps it was just his sadistic side showing. Maybe this was how he got his cheap thrills. He probably thought this was funny, the bastard. It wasn't damn funny. It wasn't.

It wouldn't take long for Arthur to gather his things. There wasn't much he'd need. Really, as long as he had his clothes, he figured, he wouldn't be in need of much else. He swiftly grabbed a lighter and his favorite carved pipe, his pocket watch, given to him as a child by his late father, and an extra set of clothes. With these items and the clothes he wore on his back, there wasn't much else he thought he needed. His eyes roamed over the room; looking at all he was being forced to leave behind, wishing he could take it all with him. Or better, wishing he didn't have to do this at all. That damn Alfred. Suddenly the thought of murder occurred to the Brit. He was a pirate after all, but he couldn't. Not to Alfred. Though they were enemies, there was something about their rivalry that Arthur would miss if he was gone. He would have no competitive spirit. Without that, he would possibly lose his motivation. That said, murder was out of the question.

For now.

Arthur, in his remaining time, busied himself with straightening up the room, trying to keep his mind off what he was having to leave. It was all that he had known for as long as he could remember. Losing it now was like losing his home. But no matter! He was a pirate, damn it! He wasn't supposed to have these pathetic emotions. He would find a way to trump Alfred F. Jones! He would not let this ruin his voyage. He was supposed to adapt to what was new, not mourn what could have been! He would find a way to make this work, he knew he would. He was Captain Arthur Kirkland, the best damn pirate to ever sail the seas.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It had been nearly a week since Arthur and Alfred first had done what was certainly not their first dysfunctional dance. The two had been bickering and fighting, physically and verbally, nonstop since Arthur had become a part of Alfred's ship. "First mate", Alfred called him. Of course, this disgruntled Arthur to no end and just made his new found dream of mounting Alfred's head on his wall all the more realistic. Not a moment could pass without one man making a snide remark to the other. Insults were hurled back and forth like a ship on the most turbulent seas.

Arthur's only escape now from the hellhole he currently resided in was getting so drunk he couldn't see straight. Alfred kept barrels of rum in the cellar, kitty-corner from the rooms, and Arthur had made a game of it; sneaking out of his room (or, as he called it, his cell) late at night, after Alfred had retired to his quarters, and cracking open a barrel of alcohol. He'd get completely plastered. He'd barely be able to walk, think, or form coherent sentences. During one romp in the cellar, he'd been informed the next day that he'd encountered one of Alfred's shipmen, had tried to convince him that he was being held captive by a raving lunatic named Horatio, and then had passed out on the floor. The man had been kind enough to toss Arthur back in his room, but not kind enough to keep the story to himself. The next day, everyone on the ship knew about Arthur's late night one-man parties, except for Alfred.

It was late at night, probably around two or three in the morning, and Arthur was still awake. He'd been trying to fall asleep, as he hadn't been feeling his best that day, but he just couldn't seem to do it. A painful knot had formed in his stomach, one he couldn't get rid of. He'd previously collapsed onto his cot, and was now lying on his side, desperately clutching at his abdomen in some hope that he could make the pain vanish. He knew why it was there. Oh, did he know. He just didn't want to accept it, and he'd do absolutely anything to make it go away. It felt like he was being run through the stomach with a lead pipe. He groaned aloud, nails digging painfully into his sides.

Against his better judgment, he sat up. The pain flared up again, shooting from his abdomen up to his chest. He growled, angry at his body for causing him pain and angry at himself for allowing it to happen. He swung his feet over the side of the cot and planted them on the floor, and promptly stood up, ignoring the flaming pain that this induced. His knees buckled inadvertently, but he pushed his way through and began making his way to the storage room where the rum was kept.

Arthur slunk out of his room, shutting the large door behind him with a quiet _click. _He tiptoed past Alfred's room, and saw him asleep on his worn cot with a troubled look on his face, as if he was having a bad dream. The pain in Arthur's stomach instantly doubled. He shook his head and sprinted the rest of the way to his destination. He slammed the door behind him without thinking of what loud a noise it would make, but it seemed to disturb no one. Smiling to himself, he turned and beheld the rum barrels stacked up to the ceiling. He selected one close to the ground and moved it towards where he now sat, and cracked the top off. The cold liquid inside rippled slightly when the top was removed, and even more when Arthur dipped his hand into it. He'd forgotten to bring anything to drink with, as he usually had a cup, but he didn't care. Having a sticky hand when the rum dried was the least of his current worries.

After several minutes, Arthur was lying on the floor, drunk off his ass. He'd drank enough to make a man nearly twice his size lose conscienceless, but Arthur had long since discovered that he had a very high tolerance for things like alcohol. Arthur wasn't a particularly happy drunk, but for some reason the situation of him getting himself so drunk that he could barely sit up was just too hilarious. He cackled loudly, not even caring about making too much noise. Suddenly, he was hit with a revelation. Now, he thought, would be an absolute perfect time to go give Alfred a piece of his mind. Though he'd been doing it all week, he'd been saving his nastiest insults for a later time. Now was the time.

Arthur quietly giggled to himself as he tiptoed over to Alfred's cabin. He inched the door open and crept inside mischievously. Once inside, he pressed his back to the cool wood of the door. Despite the arguably cold weather, Alfred slept shirtless, which was surprising to Arthur. Alfred didn't seem like the kind of person who would so freely reveal himself, even in his own private quarters. As there were no candles lit, the only light in the room was from the moon, which shone though the small circular window directly above the headboard of Alfred's cot. Arthur noted how pale Alfred looked with the moonlight dancing over his bare skin, when in reality he was quite tan from the sun beating down on him daily. Arthur staggered over to the side of Alfred's bed.

"Hey, wake up." Arthur whispered, giggling. Alfred slowly opened his eyes, surveying his environment, which looked normal, until he noticed Arthur's grinning face leaning over him, which caused him to nearly jump out of his skin.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Alfred shouted, pushing Arthur away from him. He sat up quickly, his dog tag necklace jingling quietly. Arthur staggered back clumsily, hitting the door once more.

"I came to talk to you." Arthur slurred. It was obvious that he had been drinking. "I came to tell you that you," he drunkenly pointed a finger at Alfred, "are a bad captain and a bad friend. I thought we were friends." The two men had never been friends, but Arthur didn't care. He'd just needed something to say to give him any kind of leverage. He took a shaky step forward, then another, until he was again at Alfred's bedside. He leaned close enough that Alfred could smell the bitterness of the alcohol on Arthur's breath.

"You've been drinking, I see." Alfred's face was solemn, yet his voice radiated nothing but pure anger. "And we are certainly not friends. _Alliances, _I'd say." Arthur slammed his fist on Alfred's shoulder, not hard enough to actually hurt him, but hard enough to get a point across.

"No. We're friends!" Arthur retaliated, and then, without a single thought or consequence in his mind, leaned forward and crashed his lips hastily into Alfred's. Roughly, he kissed him, clenching his eyes shut and leaning into the kiss. He would have noticed that Alfred didn't pull away, had he been able to think at all.

Of course, the whole thing took Alfred by surprise. He never would have thought that Arthur would be this bold. Never would he have done this if he was sober. Never, and Alfred knew it.

After a moment, Arthur slowly pulled away, noticing that Alfred's warm lips lingered slightly. Both men looked at each other in a mix of confusion and surprise, before the sudden realization of what he had just done sunk in to Arthur. Suddenly he turned and ran from the room, slamming the door, and leaving Alfred sitting up in his cot, wide awake and extremely perplexed.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

For the rest of the night, Alfred had not slept. He continued to think about what had happened. Where had that come from? Did Arthur actually have feelings for him, or was he just so plastered that he had no idea what he was doing? Alfred figured the latter. He sighed, sitting up in his cot and resting his forehead to his palms. He sat like that for several moments, not thinking or moving. He knew that he had to do something, but what? He would have to speak with Arthur in the morning about this. That was the only thing to do, right? Alfred figured that Arthur wouldn't even remember what happened. For some reason, that was the thought that unsettled him the most.

Only moments after returning to his cabin, Arthur promptly passed out, halfway on his cot and halfway on the floor. He slept like that, snoring loudly while dreaming. In his dream, he and Alfred had, after their long voyage together, finally found Allaura. The two men shook hands and decided to rule the kingdom together. They sat side by side in thrones bigger than they'd ever seen in their entire lifetimes, surrounded by their loyal subjects offering to them various goods and services. As the dream neared its end, Alfred and Arthur had both looked at each other, each with a small smile on their face, and began leaning in…

Arthur awoke. Where in the hell had that dream come from? Suddenly he felt angry. However, his anger was quickly replaced by confusion as he realized his place in the room. His lower half was on the cot, covered by a sheet, while his head rested on his arms on the wooden floor. How he had managed to fall asleep like this, he didn't know. He just remembered being drunk. He tried to sit, when he was hit with a wave of nausea. The only downside to drinking, he thought, was the damn hangovers. His were worse than anyone else's; he figured it was to make up for his high tolerance level.

Sluggishly he forced himself all the way into his cot. He used the sheet to cover his head to avoid being blinded by the morning sunlight that streamed into his room. He groaned, never wanting to get up. Within moments he was able to fall back asleep.

When the dim sunrise began peeking its way into Alfred's room through the small window, Alfred decided to get up. He had noticeable dark spots beneath his eyes as he'd only slept for around an hour, but he didn't care. He knew what he needed to do. He didn't want to waste a second, as he was sure this would last a while. He shrugged on his coat and buttoned it about halfway, not bothering to put on a shirt underneath. It didn't even matter. Arthur had seen him shirtless last night, so what was the harm now? Of course, Alfred had no idea how Arthur would react or if he would even recall the events that occurred. All he wished was that Arthur would not feel differently towards him, at the very least.

Alfred walked to Arthur's room, entering and shutting the door behind him quietly. Arthur was asleep, but Alfred knew for a fact that he was a light sleeper. He began creeping over to Arthur, but before he was even halfway there, Arthur sprung up in his bed like a spring, then grabbed his head in his hands with a loud groan. Alfred had to resist the temptation to crack a smile. It served Arthur right for getting so drunk.

"Hey." Alfred stated lamely. "We need to talk."

"What do you want?" Arthur groaned, not even bothering to look at Alfred as he spoke. "This had better be important; I think you can see that I'm in a lot of pain. Having you yammering on will only make it worse." As the insults streamed from his mouth almost involuntarily, the previous night slowly began to come back to Arthur's memory. Oh God, what exactly had he done? He knew it involved Alfred, and he figured that was why he was here. Shit.

Alfred's mouth twisted into a slight scowl. "Just shut up, okay? I came to talk to you. Can we please for once have a normal conversation without one or both of us acting like a complete asshole?" He nearly slapped himself in the forehead, downright exasperated. Arthur was silent. He laid back down in his cot, his back facing Alfred. Alfred sighed; Arthur had always been so damn difficult. He assumed he was listening, so he stood by the side of the bed awkwardly and began to speak without thinking.

"Do you recall what happened last night?" he asked slowly, letting the realization dawn on Arthur. A stream of curse words flew through Arthur's head. Though he knew it incorrect, he had sincerely hoping that Alfred was speaking for anything other than that. He'd rather Alfred come to tell him it was his turn to be executed. He'd literally rather die than have this conversation. He sat up quickly, face red.

"I was drunk, alright?" Arthur nearly shouted. "Everyone does stupid things when they're drunk! It can't be helped! You can't blame me for a stupid mistake that happened when I was plastered off my ass!" Alfred could tell that Arthur was angry, regretful, but mostly embarrassed. He felt awkward wanting to comfort him, because they had always been enemies. He didn't even know what they were anymore.

Alfred let out a loud, angry groan. "Damn it, Arthur!" Alfred leaned forward and in a single fluid motion, entrapped Arthur's lips in a heated kiss. Arthur made some muffled noise of protest at first, but soon gave up, not even caring. He kissed back with equal force; both men were rather dominating so both wanted to be the one to lead. Alfred pushed Arthur so his back was against the wood of the cot's headboard and put his hands on the mattress on either side of him, though he was still standing at the side of the bed. Arthur raked his nails down Alfred's back, knowing he would leave long, red marks. Alfred hissed into the kiss, enjoying the slight pain as he identified as somewhat of a masochist as well. Both pulled away slightly for breath, then dove back in, kissing one another hungrily and sloppily. Arthur's hands tangled themselves greedily in Alfred's hair, tugging.

It was unexpected; this strange pattern of actions, but in no way was it unpleasant. If either man said they knew it was coming, it would have been a lie. They loathed each other, and even now, in the midst of their passionate display, they expressed all of their pent up anger on each other, though both knew it didn't matter anymore. This was the turning point.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Look at the sky." Alfred raised a hand, his palm flat, parallel to the cloudless stretch of atmosphere. His crew, standing before him, looked up in unison. "Do you see that?" Many of the men in front of him shook their heads, to which Alfred rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Look harder."

Arthur, who stood diagonally behind Alfred, seemed to be the only one who knew to what Alfred referred, though he mentally rolled his eyes as well, as the situation seemed rather obvious. A storm was coming. While a cloudless sky sounded nice, instead of its usually blue it was more a greyish tone. From the looks of it, the storm coming was going to be bad. But they were pirates. They lived for this kind of thing.

"Zeus is coming and his goal is to strike down our ship. So keep an eye out, alright?" A strange way of phrasing it, Arthur thought, but Alfred had always been a little strange. The men seemed to understand what he meant well enough, and went back to manning their stations. Alfred looked back at Arthur with a smug countenance. "Not bad, huh?"

"I suppose." Arthur refused to fall victim to Alfred's cocky attitude. He flipped his head, tossing his hair out of his eyes. It had gotten rather shaggy, but he didn't mind. He caught Alfred sneakily watching him out of the corner of his eye. He flipped his hair again; making sure his long neck was well exposed. He smirked when he thought he saw Alfred's breath hitch.

Arthur didn't really know what to call them, nor did Alfred. Nothing had actually happened since the morning in Arthur's room, but there definitely had been a few stolen glances and undressing with the eyes. Both had noticed it, but neither had acted on it. They didn't need to. They knew the time would come. Suddenly Arthur felt tired of waiting. He stepped forward so he was directly next to Alfred, shooting him a quick, but obvious glance. Alfred knew what it meant. It was too obvious not to know. Arthur continued to walk forward, straight down to his cabin. Without a moment of hesitation, Alfred raced after him.

"Damn it, Alfred." Arthur breathed, breaking their steamy kiss to gasp for breath. He ran his hands down Alfred's exposed chest, over his toned muscles. The men were in Alfred's cabin this time, sitting on his cot. Alfred's back was pressed to the wall, and Arthur sat on top of him. His fingers tangled in Alfred's hair, while Alfred's wrapped around Arthur's waist, pulling him in closer. "Don't do that."

"What? You don't like being bitten?" Alfred asked, smirking. He then leaned in and gave Arthur a hard bite on his neck.

"God! Ah, I hate you." Arthur groaned, glaring hatefully at Alfred, who just smiled.

"I hate you too." He mused. Arthur sneered and dug his fingernails harshly into Alfred's shoulder, making him hiss, then laugh. Arthur had never really heard Alfred laugh genuinely. He had to admit, it sounded a little obnoxious, but it was nice enough. Almost methodical. Of course, he would never say so. At least not out loud.

"Shut up, asshole," Arthur growled, raking his nails again across Alfred's scalp. "I don't even know why I agreed to this."

"Yeah, well, you did, so quit your complaining." Alfred murmured, only half serious, pushing Arthur against the wall and biting him again, eliciting a harsh scratch on the shoulder from Arthur.

"I'm serious. Stop doing that." Arthur growled, somewhat defeated. Alfred saw this as a weak moment on Arthur's part and smirked.

"Well you certainly seem to be enjoying it." Alfred loomed over the other, staring him in the eyes almost harshly. The room was dark, but illuminated by the moonlight so that they could still see each other's faces, paler than usual in the white luminescence.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash of yellow light followed by a roaring thunderclap, rattling the windows and causing Alfred to nearly jump out of his skin. He crawled off of Arthur, pressing his back to the wooden wall the bed sat against and breathing heavily. Arthur merely looked at him, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.

"Christ, tell me you aren't afraid of thunderstorms." Arthur nearly laughed aloud. "That's completely bollocks. You're supposed to be a strong, tough pirate and you can't stand a little bit of loud noise?" Arthur chuckled, finding himself rather clever.

"Shut up. I just don't like it, okay?" Alfred yelped as there was another loud burst of thunder. He hugged his legs tightly, curling into a ball. "It's loud and I don't like it."

Arthur felt strange. He felt like he should be making fun of Alfred. After all, he had just exposed a huge weakness and was now completely at Arthur's disposal, but Arthur said nothing. Alfred was_ allowing_ himself to be seen by Arthur like this. Honestly, Arthur wasn't too shocked that Alfred was afraid of something like thunder and lightning, but never, ever before would he have thought that he would confess it to him. Arthur felt the strong urge to comfort Alfred, though he didn't really know how.

"Um, it's okay, Alfred…it's just a noise, you know." Arthur gently patted the other man's shoulder, trying to calm him. At the same moment, the rain started; loud, heavy drops that burst as they hit the wood of the ship. Arthur and Alfred could hear men running above, scrambling to get out of the rain's way. Arthur could see out the small window that the sky was completely dark, illuminated only by the occasional strike of lightning somewhere out in the ocean. The rain fell like bullets, stirring the sea monsters awake and angering the ocean. The waves grew larger and harder, crashing forcefully against the ship. Luckily it was nothing they hadn't dealt with before.

"Make it stop." Alfred whimpered, burying his face in his hands. Arthur simply couldn't believe it. Alfred was totally vulnerable now and yet Arthur felt the need to be nice. It was strange and he couldn't get his head around it.

Wordlessly, Arthur laid down next to where Alfred was curled in the fetal position on the bed. He put a hand on him and gently rubbed his shoulder, quietly whispering consolations as Alfred shivered away and the thunder continued rumbling. After a while, the storm settled down and Alfred drifted off, followed soon by Arthur, the two being gently rocked to sleep by the calming motion of the waves.


End file.
